


Her Fathers' Daughter

by kathkin



Series: Merlin Mpreg [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, I honestly don't remember everything that happens, but it's been so long since I wrote this, generally messed up stuff concerning parenthood, possibly other warnings, references to non-consensual pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-27
Updated: 2009-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-17 22:38:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/pseuds/kathkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/872746/chapters/1676714"><em>Don't Say It</em></a>. Merlin and Arthur's daughter comes to Camelot to find her father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by [](http://heriros.livejournal.com/profile)[**heriros**](http://heriros.livejournal.com/) and [](http://silverindie80.livejournal.com/profile)[**silverindie80**](http://silverindie80.livejournal.com/)

She’d always been told that her parents couldn’t look after her, so they’d given her to Anne, like a gift. She’d believed that for a long time – that it was a matter of _couldn’t_ , not _wouldn’t_.  
 

\---  
 

He’d been told that he should feel sorry for her because her mother was dead, and that, because her father was a nobleman, she was somehow _better_ than them. Later his mother had said that he should think of her as his little sister.  
 

Not that anyone would think they were related – he and his mother were short and dark-eyed with brown hair. She was tall with black hair and bright blue eyes. For years she looked at the world in blue-eyed innocence.  
 

She thought of him as a brother (at first), but he hated her from the start.  
 

\---  
 

When she was two and he was four, he pushed her off the roof of the chicken coop and said she’d slipped (shouldn’t have been up there anyway).  
 

\---  
 

Everyone else in the village was on his side rather than Anne’s – shewas an outsider, the bastard child of a nobleman from _Camelot_ , of all places. They tried to ignore her as much as possible, in the hope that she would get the message. _We don’t want you here._  
  


__

\---  
 

When she was seven and he was nine he struck out into the woods on his own to have an adventure, only to find, half an hour later, that there was a little blue-eyed figure following him, laughing.  
 

He turned on his heel and glared. “Leave me alone!” he said, then carried on walking.  
 

“Where are you going?” she said, running after him, still laughing.  
 

“Nowhere with you,” he said, picking up a stick from the ground. It was a good stick. It would make a good spear.  
 

“But I want to come,” she said. She ran up behind him and touched him on the shoulder. “Tag!”  
 

“What?” he said.  
 

“You’re it!” she said, and ran away a little, but stopped when he didn’t follow. “Don’t you want to play?”  
 

“I’m not playing with you!” he said, and banged his stick against the nearest tree for emphasis.  
 

She just laughed, picked up her own stick from the ground, and brandished it at him.  
 

“Go away!” he said, and walked away from up.  
 

She ran after him, round him, in front of him. “Why can’t I come?” he said.  
 

“Because I don’t want you,” he said. They’d reached the top of a slope that he and his friends used to roll down in summer, but it was winter now. “You’re not my sister. Now leave me alone!”  
 

And with that he lashed out at her, gave her a good shove, sent her flying down the hill. She rolled all the way down, and landed in the mud at the bottom (it had rained a lot lately, so there was a lot of it, knee-deep in particularly wet places like the bottom of that slope).  
 

He ran down after her, looked down at her, lying on her side in the mud, poked her with his stick, and started to laugh.  
 

Then she grabbed his ankle and pulled him down with her. He laughed anyway, but his mouth filled up with mud, and she was clawing and kicking at him in fury. He couldn’t help but fight back.  
 

She fought like a wildcat, all nails and teeth, and he was so shocked at first that he tried to get away from her, fearing she might scratch his eyes out, and wriggled back up the hill –  
 

She followed him and scratched him again, so he punched her in the guts. He punched her like she was a boy, and she took it like one.  
 

\---  
 

When they got back, they were both so coated in mud that Anne had to get out the bathtub and wash them both. He got it first. She had to refill it in between because the water was so filthy.  
 

The girl sat and watched with the mud drying on her skin. Anne had scolded him more, for hitting ‘his sister’, but given him the bath first.  
 

She didn’t think of him as her brother after that.  
 

\---  
 

Skip ahead a year, to when she was eight.  
 

She spent the morning helping Anne make honey-cakes, while her ‘brother’ had been outside roughhousing with his friends.  
 

Anne had rolled her eyes, and said that he was a bad boy, and wasn’t to get any till dinner. But she gave the girl one to have now, ‘for being so helpful’, and she took it outside to eat, warm and golden-brown and sweet-smelling.  
 

He came home just as she stepped at the door – he’d probably smelled the baking – disappeared inside, then came out a moment later, scowling, and held out his hand.  
 

“Give it to me,” he said. “I want it.”  
 

“Mummy gave it to me,” she said, holding it firmly in both hands. She hadn’t even started to eat it yet, but the smell was making her mouth water.  
 

“You shouldn’t call her that. She’s not your mummy,” he said.  
 

“I know _that_ ,” she said. Of course she did.  
 

“Your mummy’s dead,” he said. Her eyes widened in shock, and, seeing this, he stepped forward. “You _killed_ her.”  
 

It took her a moment to answer. “You’re lying,” she said eventually. Her grip on the cake slackened.  
 

“M’not,” he said. “She’s dead because of you.” He took the cake form her unresisting hands and ate it in three bites as he walked away.  
 

\---  
 

“Did I kill my mother?” she asked that evening, as Anne put her to bed (she slept in the main room, near the fire; her ‘brother’ and Anne shared the bedroom).  
 

“Of course not,” said Anne rather too hurriedly. “Who told you that?”  
 

She ignored the question. “Did I?”  
 

Anne tucked the blankets tightly around her.  
 

“She died giving birth,” she said. “It wasn’t your fault.”  
 

Then she kissed her, blew out the candle, and left her alone but for the orange glow of the fire.  
 

\---  
 

She had a recurring dream when she was growing up that she was drowning in blood.  
 

She didn’t think much of it, though.  
 

\---  
 

The next week, he gleefully cornered her in front of the house to finish his tale.  
 

“Your mother died,” he said. “And your father didn’t want you. So he gave you away.”  
 

“Shut up,” she said.  
 

“He didn’t care about your mother either,” he said. He’d got this from the other boys, from people in the village. They’d said far worse. He was being kind. “She wasn’t his wife.Just one of his servants. Maybe not even that. Maybe just some whore.” He wasn’t entirely sure what that word meant, but he knew it was bad, and so did she – you could tell just from the sound of it.  
 

“Shut up!” she said, more forcefully.  
 

“There’s word for people like you,” he said. “You’re a bastard, you are. You’re a bastard child, and no-one will ever want anything to do with you. No-one here does.” She just stared at him, impassive, so he went for stronger words. “Everyone here hates you, you know.”  
 

She wanted to hit him, kick him, scratch his eyes out, but she didn’t. She just clenched her fists at her sides, looked him dead in the eye, and –  
 

Someone screamed.  
 

He hit the wall of a nearby house hard, slid to the ground, and didn’t move. She glared at his limp body, then turned and walked away into the woods.  
 

\---  
 

That evening, she sat up at the table and ate dinner with Anne while her ‘brother’ lay in the bedroom groaning, covered in bruises, with one wrist splinted and no appetite. They didn’t speak to each other.  
 

Then a group of people arrive outside the house – Old Pete, the oldest man in the village, and his two sons, and Gregor, the self-appointed headman with his wife, and other people she recognised from the village that was her home.  
 

“We need to talk to you, Anne,” his eyes flicked to the girl. Anne set her spoon down in her bowl.  
 

“Can’t it wait till morning?” she said.  
 

He shook his head. “It’s urgent,” he said. His eyes flicked to her again. Most of the others were watching her warily as well. “I’m sure you’ll agree that she can’t stay here any longer.”  
 

“What?” said Anne. “Who?”  
 

“The girl,” he said. “The devil-child.”  
 

“Jenny?” said Anne weakly.  
 

Gregor nodded. “We’ve all agreed,” he said. “We’re not having her here any longer. Not any more.”  
 

“She’s in my house,” said Anne, her voice trembling. “It’s my choice, not yours.”  
 

“And he’s _your_ son,” Gregor said, gesturing at the doorway of the other room. “She’s just some bastard child you suckled. She’s no relation of anyone here. She’s got no right to be here.” Anne didn’t answer. “She’s to be out of the village by sunrise.”  
 

He turned and left, his group following him.  
 

\---  
 

She cried herself to sleep that night.  
 

But she wasn’t gone by sunrise.  
 

\---  
 

Gregor came to check the next morning, and found her eating porridge at the table while Anne checked up on her son in the bedroom.  
 

“Sunrise was an hour ago,” he said. “You shouldn’t be here. Get out.”  
 

She took a spoonful of her breakfast. “M’not leaving,” she said. “I don’t want to.”  
 

“It’s not your choice,” he said. “I won’t have no devil-children in my village.”  
 

She set her spoon down and held out one rather grubby hand. “I’ll do to you what I did to Tommy,” she said. Much to her satisfaction, he paled, and backed away a few steps. She smiled, and lifted her spoon again. “Leave me be!”  
 

He backed down.  
 

\---  
 

He didn’t try to make her leave again. No-one did. But they stopped ignoring her.  
 

If she went near anyone’s house, someone would rush to slam the door. A few families even threw stones at her, like she was a stray cat.  
 

Tommy and the other boys pelted her cheerfully with whatever was to hand when she was nearby – mud, snow, rocks, sticks.  
 

She took to going out into the woods on her own, leaving very early and not getting back till dusk.  
 

She’d sit and try to repeat her trick. She tried to move sticks and stones around without touching them. She tried it at least once a day, every day, for years.  
 

It didn’t work.  
 

After a while she tried getting herself angry to see if that would help. It wasn’t hard. She would image that the stick or the stone or the leaf or whatever it was was Tommy or Gregor or just about anyone in the village, and lash out at it with her mind.  
 

But they always stayed still.  
 

One day, three years later, she screamed in frustration, threw away the sticks she’d been trying to move with her hands, and stormed back to Anne’s house (it wasn’t ‘home’ any more).  
 

\---  
 

She spent the next year inside the house, hiding from the world. Rather than go outside and face the villagers, she hid indoors, and sat in silence. She’d do chores for Anne when she was asked, but never anything which would mean going outdoors.  
 

She’d flatly refuse if she was asked to feed the chickens, or go andfetch some eggs, or anything like that. After a while, Anne stopped trying.  
 

\---  
 

She tried to go outside once during that time, early in the morning, just for a walk, but after so many months spent indoors, being surrounded by so much empty space, so much land, made her feel slightly dizzy.  
 

\---  
 

Anne had always been a bit sickly – she tended to get nasty lingering colds every winter, and a lot of summers as well – but a year after the girl – who no longer thought of herself as ‘Jenny’ – retreated indoors, she went beyond that.  
 

She got sicker and sicker, until she could hardly get out of bed, let alone leave the house.  
 

An uneasy truce between her and Tommy was established. The girl obviously couldn’t interact with the other villagers in any kind of meaningful way, but neither could Tommy take over cooking and cleaning. One doing one and one doing the other meant they had to speak sometimes.  
 

“We need more milk,” she said one day. “Can you go and ask someone for some?” They didn’t have a cow, but the villagers were accustomed to sharing, most of the time.  
 

“Say please,” he said.  
 

“You throw sticks at me,” she said. “I’m not going to be polite to you.”  
 

“My mother would want you to be,” he said.  
 

“Well, she wanted us to be brother and sister, and we know how that turned out,” she said.  
 

\---  
 

Anne died during the night a few months after that.  
 

The girl knew she couldn’t stay on her own. Given that just about everyone was now fairly certain that, though she was a devil child, she wasn’t going to repeat her trick, Anne had been all that had been stopping them from dealing with her themselves. Anne cared about her. They all knew she’d be crushed if they killed the girl.  
 

So, she left. She left before anyone came to tell her to. She walked outside, and felt her head spin, as it had before, felt a twinge of fear – but then she reasoned that what the villagers might do if she stayed would be much, much worse.  
 

\---  
 

She walked away from the village, into the forest, and camped out there for a few nights before going to find somewhere new.  
 

\---  
 

She ended up working as a maid in an inn a few miles away, far enough that no-one knew who she was (though someone did mention having heard of a devil-child in ‘a village to the East somewhere’, but obviously she didn’t say ‘excuse me, but I think I am the child you speak of’).  
 

It was there that she first heard talk of Camelot.  
 

\---  
 

Her village was on the outskirts of the kingdom, so all she knew about it was that it was far away, and resented rather by the villagers (the taxman reported back to Camelot, after all).  
 

But in the inn she heard people speaking of the king. She’d listen in to travellers on their way through, and they’d talk about the king.  
 

She learned that he was fairly young and forward-thinking, that he’d made a lot of changes. Some of the travellers disliked him, but they all seemed to agree that he was a good king (some even said great).  
 

One night, she was scrubbing the floor on the landing – it was open, with nothing but a banister separating it from the main room of the inn below – when she realised, from the sounds drifting up, that some of their guests that night were Arthur’s own knights.  
 

They were Sir Gawain, and Sir - well, something else that began with G -  and they had first-hand knowledge that no-one else could match (everyone in the inn was curious about anyone remotely famous).  
 

The topic of discussion quickly turned to the Royal Sorcerer.  
 

“He’s alright,” said Sir Gawain (or she thought it was Sir Gawain). He didn’t elaborate.  
 

“I’ve heard he’s a demon,” said someone.  
 

“I’ve never seen anything demonic about him,” said the other knight. “Can’t speak for everyone else, though.”  
 

“He tends to keep to himself,” said Sir Gawain.  
 

“But he’s powerful?” someone asked.  
 

“Oh, yes,” said Sir Gawain. “Yes, very powerful.”  
 

“I’ve heard he can move things without touching them,” said the voice of the innkeeper’s son. The girl stopped scrubbing and sat up to listen.  
 

“You rarely see him do magic,” said Sir Gawain. “He doesn’t show it off.”  
 

“I’ve seen him do that,” said the other knight. The girl leaned over towards the banister, so she could hear better.  
 

Unfortunately, in doing so she overbalanced her bucket, and sent water cascading down towards their most esteemed guests.  
 

She gasped.  
 

The water stopped, froze in an arc in the air over the table. One of the other maids screamed. She saw Sir Gawain and the other knight leap out of their chairs to get out from under it, and stood up, trembling.  
 

The innkeeper’s wife was staring up at her in horror. She turned and fled before anyone else could look up at the landing and see her.  
 

\---  
 

This time she was gone by sunrise.  
 

She sat by the side of the road halfway through the day and ate some bread and cheese that she’d packed – the innkeeper’s wife had let her take it, so long as she left and didn’t come back – and wondered where to go.  
 

She thought later that, were it not for the knights, the idea would never have come into her head, ever. She’d probably have just headed on, found another village and another inn and tried again, and kept on doing that, for as long as she lived.  
 

But it occurred to her that her father was a nobleman from Camelot. He was probably still there. She could go there and find him, and, and –  
 

Well, she didn’t really know what she’d do. Beating him with a stick for giving her up sounded appealing, but then again, so did going down on her knees and begging him to take her in.  
 

\---  
 

Three days later, she found herself inside Camelot.  
 

She wandered into the main courtyard of the palace – the guards she went past glared at her, but let her through – and stared.  
 

The palace was magnificent.  
 

And according to all the people she’d asked, this would be where she would find her father (well, where she’d find noblemen, they’d said). That was assuming he lived here rather than just having been visiting, or that he hadn’t left in the last twelve years, or died.  
 

She went and sat down on the steps, and stayed there for an hour and a half, just thinking.  
 

She tried to think what she would say if she found him.  
 

She couldn’t think of anything.  
 

‘ _Hello, I’m the daughter you abandoned twelve years ago. My village turned me out, and then I lost my job, so I came to find you so I can beat you with this stick. I hope that’s alright._ ’  
 

She hadn’t even brought a stick with her, and where would she find one in the city, exactly?  
 

\---  
 

When an hour and a half had passed, she got up from her perch and made her way into the palace.  
 

She stopped the first maid she met – a dumpy girl wearing a headscarf – and asked who she should talk to if she wanted a job, exactly.  
 

\---  
 

She suspected the woman she spoke to was rather taken aback at how forward she was. She was, after all, just a skinny peasant girl (and a bastard child at that) who wasn’t even thirteen years old yet.  
 

“Have you any experience?” she said doubtfully.  
 

“I’ve been working as a maid in an inn for the past few months,” she said. “And I cleaned our house in the village before that. I know I’m young, but I can work.”  
 

She looked the woman dead in the eye. “Well?”  
 

\---  
 

She was given her own apron, and a bucket, and a brush, and a stretch of floor to clean.  
 

She’d sit and scrub and stare at each man who went past, wondering if it was her father.  
 

_Too young. Too old. Most definitely not a nobleman. Too young again._  
  


It all went well until early one evening three days in, when she managed to knock over her bucket on to what turned out to be a very valuable carpet.  
 

Rather than being fired, as she’d feared, she was taken down to a very long corridor, and told to scrub it from end to end before she went to bed.  
 

She scowled at the senior maid, then scowled at the corridor, then at the bucket.  
 

Then she resolved to do it, and do it _well_.  
 

\---  
 

Two hours later, when it was getting dark, she was three-quarters of the way down the corridor, her knuckles rubbed raw against the stone, cursing under her breath.  
 

She heard the door at the end of the corridor open, and footsteps approaching, echoing around her, but didn’t think much of it. Her only thought was that they were out a bit late – it was after dinnertime (she was bloody hungry, her stomach was growling), and most people were entertaining themselves in their rooms.  
 

But she didn’t look around to see who it was, because apparently that would be rude. Servants did not speak to noblemen, or look at them, or anything that would suggest that they were equals. So she just ignored them.  
 

Until whoever it was knelt down next to her and took hold of her wrist, stopping her hand.  
 

She stared up in shock, and tried to pull herself away, but he held firm.  
 

“It’s much too late to be doing that,” he said. “Why are you still doing that?”  
 

He was dark-haired and skinny, with ears that were much too big, and he was smiling at her fondly.  
 

“It’s my punishment, sir,” she said.  
 

“What for?” he said, frowning.  
 

“Ruining a carpet.” She said bitterly, then tugged her hand away from his and kept scrubbing.  
 

“How long have you been here?” he said, catching her wrist again. “Did they make you miss dinner?” She didn’t answer. “Hmm?”  
 

“Oh, what do you care?” she said, snatching her wrist away with more force than was probably needed. But she was finding him rather annoying, whoever he was.  
 

He looked genuinely hurt. “Of course I care,” he said, taking her by the wrist again, this time rather more gently. “Well?”  
 

“Well what?” she said, kneeling up properly.  
 

“Have you eaten?” he said. She shook her head. “Alright, then.” He straightened up, and pulled her up with him, so that she was standing next to him.  
 

He was very ordinary-looking, she noticed, and it wasn’t just his looks – he didn’t hold himself like a courtier. But he was dressed like one. Not as extravagantly as many of the men she’d seen in the last few days, but definitely too well-dressed to be a commoner.  
 

“Who _are_ you?” she said.  
 

“I’m Merlin,” he said. “Court sorcerer.” He held out a hand, then took hers and shook it when she didn’t respond. “What’s your name?”  
 

“Jenny,” she said, and scowled.  
 

His eyebrows went up. “Don’t like it?” he said. She shrugged.  
 

“None of your business,” she said. He muttered something she couldn’t make out. He was still holding her hand.  
 

“Seeing as you haven’t eaten, do you want me to get you something?”  
 

“No,” she said. “I want to finish cleaning, thank you.”  
 

“They can’t deprive you of dinner,” he said. “It’s not fair.”  
 

“Actually, I’d say it’s a pretty standard punishment,” she said. “Did your mother never send you to bed without dinner?”  
 

“Yes,” he said. “And I hated it. Thought it was horrible and vowed never to do it to anybody.” He reached out and took her scrubbing brush. “Come on.”  
 

“I’m twelve,” she said, frowning at him.  
 

“Yeah, and?” he said.  
 

“You’re _sick_ ,” she said, tugging her hand away. His eyes widened. He flushed red.  
 

“Oh, God- oh, no! No –look, I just don’t want you to go hungry,” he said, then frowned. “Oh _God_ , who does that? Do people – ”  
 

“No,” she said. “Don’t start panicking. No-one pays any attention to me.” She sighed. “You’re very strange, you know that?”  
 

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “Now, are you coming or not?”  
 

\---

His rooms were tucked away up one of the smaller staircases – one of the little nooks which had come about as the palace was built and re-built and extended – almost out of sight.  
 

“Sorry about the mess,” he said as he opened the door.  
 

And the mess, when she saw it, was really quite appalling. He seemed to have managed to cover every available surface with books, papers, little stacks of dishes, clothes, random objects that were either magical or utterly weird, or, failing that, dust. There was dust coating just about everything. She ran one finger along the top of the bookcase. It came back gray around the edges.  
 

“It’s really quite appalling, isn’t it?” he said, shifting a stack of books from a chair to the floor. “Come on,” he said, patting the now empty chair. “Sit down.”  
 

She sat, and immediately wished she’d taken a closer look at the seat of the chair. She didn’t want to get dust all over her dress. She didn’t have another one.  
 

“So,” he said, drawing up another chair. “Did you grow up here? In the city?”  
 

“No,” she said. “In a village south of here. Why?”  
 

“With your family?” he said.  
 

“No,” she said, and scowled. “I don’t see how this is any of your business.”  
 

“Who brought you up?” he said.  
 

“Anne,” she said. “My –my foster mother, I suppose. I lived with her and her son until she died.”  
 

“She died?” he said, looking rather more sad than she’d expect. “When?”  
 

“Eight, nine months ago,” she said.  
 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Where-”  
 

“Look, I don’t mean to be rude,” she said. “It was very kind of you to bring me up here, if a bit weird, but you didn’t say you were going to start drilling me about my life.”  
 

“I was just going to ask where you’ve been since then,” he said.  
 

“None of your business,” she said, and folded her arms.  
 

“Why did you come here?” he said, obviously not taking the signal to stop. “Just to work? Or for something else?”  
 

She opened her mouth to tell him that it was none of his business again, but… he was looking at her, smiling slightly, one eyebrow raised, and she couldn’t help but tell him the truth.  
 

“No,” she said slowly. “I came here to find my father. Anne told me he was a nobleman who lived here.”  
 

His smile broadened. He reached out to take her hand again, but she pulled it away.  
 

“Stop looking at me like that,” she said. “It’s creepy.”  
 

“Like what?” he said.  
 

“Like you know me,” she said. “You don’t.”  
 

He leaned back and sighed. “You’re right,” he said. “I don’t know you.” She turned away to look at the wall. “I haven’t seen you since you were a baby,” he said, his voice rather softer.  
 

Her head snapped round. It had sounded like a mistake, something which had just slipped out, but now she saw the look on his face she was sure it was deliberate. He was staring at her intently, waiting to see what her response would be.  
 

She stood up as quickly as she could. The chair screeched on the flagstones. “Who _are_ you?” she said.  
 

“Merlin,” he said. “Court sorcerer.”  
 

“And you think you knew me when I was a baby?”  
 

He nodded. “I _know_ I did. Before you left here, with Anne. I remember her, and her son – Tommy, isn’t it?”  
 

She nodded slowly. “Do you know who my father is?” she said. Her mind leapt forward suddenly. “Are –are _you_ my father?”  
 

He didn’t answer at once, just sighed and took his head in his hands for a moment. “It’s… complicated.”  
 

Her eyes narrowed. “Does that mean yes?” she said.  
 

“Well… yes _and_ no,” he said. “It really is complicated.” He stood up to stand opposite her. “Look, Jenny – ”  
 

“Yes or no,” she said. “Are you my father?”  
 

He still didn’t answer straight away. He turned to look vaguely at something off behind her left shoulder before turning back to her and taking a deep breath. “Yes, alright?” he said. “Yes, I am.”  
 

She stared at him in silence for a moment, then let out a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a sob. He smiled, and reached out to take her hand again.  
 

“Look, I – ”  
 

Then she slapped him.  
 

“Okay,” he said. “ _Ow_.” He rubbed at his cheek. “I know someone who’d be very proud of you for that.”  
 

“You, you complete – you utter – you abandoned me!” she said, choking back another sob. She realised, to her horror, that she was on the brink of tears.  
 

“No, that’s not – ” he started to say.  
 

“Yes, you did,” she said. “You gave me away, you abandoned me, you – how _could_ you?”  
 

“It wasn’t like that,” he said. “Look, Jenny – ”  
 

“Don’t _call_ me that!” she shouted. “You don’t even – ” she tried to hit him again, but he caught hold of both her arms.  
 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I really am.”  
 

“You’re _sorry?_ ” she said. “That’s – ” She snatched her arms away from him. “You can’t just – you – ” She broke off, took a few deep breaths… then turned on her heel and marched out of the door.  
 

She heard him call her name was she walked back down the stairs, except it wasn’t her name. It hadn’t been for a long time.  
 

She decided that this was it. She’d had enough, now. She’d go away and never come back. She knew who her father was now, and that was what she’d wanted.


	2. Chapter 2

 

But then, when she was just starting to make her way down the corridor, she heard his door open. She turned around just in time to see him almost fall down into the passageway.  
 

“For God’s sake, _wait!_ ” he said. “Look, I know what you think,” he said. “And believe me, I’d be angry too. But that _isn’t what happened._ Now come back in here, and let me explain.” She didn’t answer. She just stood and stared at him. “Look,” he said, walking over to her slowly. “Come inside, and I’ll explain.” He stopped just in front of her, and wiped away tears she hadn’t even noticed she was shedding with his sleeve. “I can explain,” he repeated.  
 

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. “Sure you can,” she said. “I’m sure you had a very good reason for giving me away.”  
 

“I _didn’t_ ,” he said. “I really didn’t. Now come back in. I’ll get you something to eat, alright?”  
 

“Alright,” she said, glancing briefly at the wall – she didn’t want to look him in the eye. “Alright. You _explain_.”  
 

And then a few moments later they were back inside, sitting next to each other again. He handed her a rather faded handkerchief (or it might have been a neckcloth, actually) to wipe her face with, and waited for her to speak.  
 

“Go on, then,” she said after a while. Once she’d managed to stop crying. She was _not_ going to cry over this.  
 

He took a few deep breaths, thought for a moment. “What did Anne tell you, exactly?”  
 

“Anne told me that my parents couldn’t look after me so they gave me to her,” she said. “Later on she said my mother died. Tommy said my father didn’t want me so he gave me away.”  
 

“Anne told you the truth,” he said. “Alright? We wanted you, of course we wanted you- it was never meant to be permanent.” He swallowed rather noisily, and want on. “We just gave you to her for a little while,” he said. “I think she misunderstood the situation a little –thought we didn’t want you –not that it was her fault, it wasn’t her fault,” he said hurriedly. “But yes. We wanted you, we really did.”  
 

“You and my mother?” she said, frowning.  
 

He let out a short laugh, though he didn’t seem amused. “That’s where it gets complicated. You see, well –you don’t have one. A mother, I mean.”  
 

Her frown deepened. “She died, then?”  
 

“No,” said Merlin. “You don’t have one. You never had one.”  
 

“I don’t understand,” she said.  
 

“You’ve got two fathers instead,” he said. Disbelief spread across her face. He smiled. “See, told you it was complicated.”  
 

“It doesn’t work like that,” she said. “I’m not stupid. I know it doesn’t work like that.”  
 

“Not usually,” he said. “No. You’re a special case.”  
 

At this point, there was a knock on the door – one of the servants, who raised an eyebrow at her as he came in, bearing a tray.  
 

“Thanks,” said Merlin. “Set it down over here, will you?” He nodded, and did so. “Thanks!” Merlin called after him, then waited for the door to close.  
 

“Anyway,” he said, handing her a plate. “Not sure what this is.”  
 

“It’s stew,” she said.  
 

“Palace kitchens,” said Merlin. “They have a hundred different kinds of stew. It probably has a name.”  
 

“Right,” she said, lifting a spoon. She _was_ hungry, after all. “Care to explain how I come to have two fathers?”  
 

She didn’t believe him, not for one moment, but she wanted to hear what he had to say.  
 

“Magic,” he said. She raised her eyebrows. “Nothing to do with me, though,” he said hurriedly. “I mean, obviously I was – _involved_ –but I didn’t cast the spell. Well,” he dug his own spoon into the other plate of stew. “The curse. That’s what it was, I’m afraid.”  
 

“A curse,” she said flatly.  
 

“On your other father,” he said. “So he could get – well, pregnant. And me and him, we were – close. Very close.”  
 

“You were shagging, you mean,” she said, taking a bite of her stew (and it was very good stew).  
 

“Oi!” he said. “Language. You shouldn’t talk like that.”  
 

“What, becomes I’m a girl?” she said.  
 

“Your other father wouldn’t like it,” he said.  
 

“My pregnant father,” she said. He nodded. “That doesn’t even work.”  
 

“Magic,” he said. “It can make a lot of things work that shouldn’t. But, well… you’re right. It didn’t really work. I mean, he couldn’t give birth – obviously – so we had to, y’know,” he gestured vaguely. She looked at him blankly. “Cut you out of him,” he said.  
 

“Cut me out of him,” she said. He nodded.  
 

“I’m sorry,” he said, setting down his spoon. “I really wish it hadn’t happened that way. But what’s why we needed Anne, d’you see? We needed a wet-nurse. That’s all it was supposed to be. But, well –did you know the old king made magic illegal?” She shook her head. “Well, he did. Punishable by death. If he’d known about you, and how you came to be, well –he’d have had you killed for sure, and probably me too. So that’s why your other father couldn’t come to see you. He didn’t want to draw attention to you, d’you see? And we thought it was best not to tell Anne what had happened, so it wouldn’t get out-”  
 

“So you told her my mother died and my father didn’t want me,” she said. “Because that makes sense,” she said, and set down her spoon, and started to get up. “I don’t appreciate you trying to get out of this. But thank you for the stew.”  
 

He grabbed her wrist again. “I never said we didn’t want you,” he said. “I said he couldn’t take care of you himself because he was so busy, and he couldn’t come to visit you in case anyone found out,” he said, and frowned. “Looking back on it, I should just have told her the truth. I’m sure she wouldn’t have told, and it would have saved a lot of trouble. There was no way to explain it without making it sound like you weren’t wanted, really.”  
 

“You could have said you were my father,” she suggested, tugging her hand away.  
 

He pulled a face. “Yeah, but then she’d have wondered where I was getting the money to pay her,” he said. “And to pay for the house. I mean, I was just one of the servants back then.” He sighed, and lifted his spoon again. “D’you see now? We really did want you.”  
 

She sat down, and glared. “I don’t believe you,” she said. “I think you’re lying. Or mad. Or both.”  
 

“Your other father has scars on his stomach,” said Merlin. “Trust me. I couldn’t make this stuff up.”  
 

“That’s horrible,” she said. “I mean, if it’s true, that’s a horrible way to come about.”  
 

“Don’t think that,” he said. “I mean –yeah, the pregnancy was kind of –but you were _separate_ from all of that. You were our daughter. I mean- when it… _happened_ , it was all blood and screaming and, well… you get the picture. But then there was _you_ , right in the middle of it all, and you were… well, you were _wonderful_.”  
 

She ate another bite of her stew. She didn’t feel so hungry any more. She was starting to feel slightly sick. He sounded so sincere. Like he really might be telling the truth.  
 

“Who was he?” she said. “My other father? What was his name? Is he still at court?”  
 

“Arthur,” said Merlin. “And –well yes.”  
 

“Arthur,” she said. “Like the king?”  
 

“Yes, like the king,” said Merlin. He smiled at her.  
 

She dropped her spoon.  
 

“The king,” she said. “King Arthur. It was him – him who – he really – ”  
 

“Yes,” said Merlin. “He’s your father too. It’s him you came looking for, really, not me.”  
 

“But-” she said. “But that’s – who else knows?”  
 

“Me,” he said. “You, now. Gaius, the court physician, he knew. And the Queen. She found out after they got married.”  
 

“Did she mind?” she said.  
 

“Oh, she was very understanding,” said Merlin. He took another mouthful of stew. “Arthur’s away from court at the moment,” he said. “But he’s due back tomorrow. I’m sure he’ll want to see you, once he knows you’re here. And Gwen, too.”  
 

“Right,” she said weakly. “His long-lost bastard child.”  
 

“Don’t call yourself that,” he said.  
 

“That’s what the villagers called me,” she said. “Tommy used to say I was a bastard child andeveryone would hate me for it. That I was worthless.”  
 

“That’s nonsense,” said Merlin. “Don’t ever think that.”  
 

“That’s easy for you to say,” she said.  
 

He set his spoon down. “Look, I don’t even know who my father was,” he said. “I never knew him. All I know is the people in my village used to call me that sometimes too. I never let that stop me, and neither should you.”  
 

“They used to say I was a bastard and a devil-child,” she said absently, toying with her meal.  
 

“Devil-child?” he said. “Why’s that?”  
 

She took a deep breath. “I heard someone say once that you can move things without touching them,” she said. “Is that true?”  
 

He nodded, and smiled. “I can show you if you like,” he said. “Hmm?” She shrugged.  
 

He turned his attention to the nearest stack of books. His eyes flashed gold, and they drifted up gently into the air, hovering two feet above the tabletop.  
 

“Oh,” she said, and looked away.  
 

“Can you do that?” he said. “Is that what it was?”  
 

“Not like that I can’t,” she said. “It’s only happened twice. First time I threw Tommy into a wall. He broke his wrist. They said I had the devil in me.”  
 

“When I was twelve I almost felled a tree on top of someone,” he said. “And when I was ten I accidentally threw a boy into the river. He could have drowned. Everyone thought he just slipped. These things happen, when you’re growing up with something like that. Don’t worry about it.” She didn’t answer. “You can’t control it, though?”  
 

“No,” she said. “I tried, but I never could.”  
 

“Maybe I can help you with that.”  
 

For some reason, the tears she’d been trying to hold back chose that not terribly appropriate moment to come. She sobbed.  
 

“Oh, God,” he said. “Don’t cry again.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry, I really am. I’m so sorry about what happened, and I’m sorry –I’m sorry for everything,” he said. He reached out and wrapped his other arm around her waist. She leaned in to rest her head on his shoulder. “You do believe me, don’t you?”  
 

“Y-yes,” she said, through her sobs. She felt more than a little pathetic. “I think so. I just – I wanted to hate you. I still do.”  
 

“Please don’t,” he said. “I really am sorry, and – I was nineteen. That’s not that much older than you are, you know. I was nineteen, and he was twenty-one, and it was all such a mess.” He stroked her hair. “I’m your father,” he said. “And I really do love you. I want to be there for you from now on, if you’ll have me.”  
 

She pulled back a little to look him in the eye. “Alright,” she said. “Alright.”  
 

He beamed at her, then frowned. “I’m not quite sure what we’re going to do with you, though. To be honest we never really expected to see you again. I guess- I’ll see if we can find you a room somewhere. I don’t know. I’m bad at this stuff.” He stroked her hair again, and took a good look at her face. “You’ve got Arthur’s nose,” he said. “And my cheekbones.”  
 

He smiled, and she smiled back.  
 

\---  
 

Her first sight of the King – of her other father – was late the next afternoon, through a window in a corridor in the palace (she got some odd looks from maids who hadn’t realised she didn’t work there any more).  
 

“So what _am_ I going to do?” she’d said when Merlin told her she couldn’t work as a maid any more.  
 

“That’s up to Arthur, really,” he said. “But I should hope you’ll be part of the court from now on.”  
 

She tossed her hair. “I think I can do that.”  
 

She thought she could see Gawain and the other knight in the column, behind their King.  
 

All she could make out from where she stood was that he was blond, and, well – _kingly_. She couldn’t quite connect him with what Merlin had said – with that image of a man being pregnant.  
 

“I’ll talk to him,” said Merlin from behind her. “When I see him. Bring him up to date. I’m sure he’ll want to see you.”  
 

“I’m sure,” she said. Her attention drifted to the Queen who was making her way down the steps. She was… not what you’d expect. Dark-haired and dark-skinned, warm and friendly-looking. She reminded her a little of Anne, except you could tell she had a strength in her that Anne had lacked.  
 

\---  
 

__

_Arthur, as it happened, hadn’t intended to tell Gwen what he’d been through. He’d thought it would be easier not to.  
  
_

__

_But on their wedding night she’d lain with her head pillowed on his chest, stroking his stomach absently while they talked, and –she noticed.  
  
_

__

_“What’s this?” she’d said, frowning.  
  
_

__

_“It’s a scar,” he’d said.  
  
_

__

_“What did this?” she’d said. “It doesn’t look like a battle wound.” Her fingers had traced the long curve of it. “It’s too… precise. How did this-”  
  
_

__

_“Well-” he’d said, but he’d broken off when she’d looked up at him, frowning in confusion but so very trusting, and his planned story about illness and surgery had dried up in his throat. “Ask Merlin,” he’d said. “He’ll explain. I –I’d rather not talk about it.”  
  
_

__

_She’d come back the next morning after speaking to Merlin, stroked his cheek, kissed him, and said that it was alright.  
  
_

__

_“I don’t mind,” she’d said. “You could have told me. I wouldn’t have minded. You can tell me anything, you know that.” She’d paused, then gone on. “I’m so sorry.”  
  
_

__

_“It’s alright,” he’d said. “It’s in the past now_. _”  
  
_

__

\---  
  
 

“So, you and Arthur,” she said to Merlin. “When you were younger.”  
 

“Yes,” he said.  
 

“And now he’s married to Guinevere,” she said. “Are you and him –I mean, is that finished?”  
 

“Not so much,” said Merlin. “Don’t get the wrong idea. Gwen knows. She’s known for years. She doesn’t mind. She knows he loves us both.”  
 

“Sure he does,” she said. This whole situation was making her skin crawl.  
 

\---  
 

_Merlin and Arthur’s conversation upon his arrival – after all the normal exchanges, and other updates – went something like this.  
  
_

__

_“I’ve got something to tell you,” said Merlin.  
  
_

__

_“Oh, yes?” said Arthur, taking off his jacket.  
  
_

__

_“There’s someone here who I think you’ll want to see,” he said. “She arrived while you were away.”  
  
_

__

_“And who’s that, then?” said Arthur.  
  
_

__

_“Our daughter,” said Merlin.  
  
_

__

_Arthur froze. He didn’t speak for a long time.  
  
_

__

_“She –you mean –she’s here?”  
  
_

__

_“Her wet-nurse told her her father lived in Camelot,” said Merlin. “She came to find us.”  
  
_

__

_“Oh_ God _,” said Arthur. “You’re sure it’s her?”  
  
_

__

_“Certain,” said Merlin. “D’you want to see her?”  
  
_

__

_Arthur turned to face him. “Of course!” he said. “How could I – how could I_ not? _”  
  
_

__

_“She was working as a maid,” said Merlin absently.  
  
_

__

_“I hope you put stop to that,” said Arthur. “Oh, God, she’ll –what are we going to_ do _with her?”  
  
_

__

_Merlin shrugged. “That’s up to you, really.”  
  
_

__

_“Did you tell her what happened?” Merlin nodded. “And did you tell her –did you tell her what I asked you to do?”  
  
_

__

_“Of course not,” said Merlin.  
  
_

__

_“Did you find her a room?” said Arthur. Merlin nodded. “Oh, God – does she have your ears?!”  
  
_

__

_Merlin laughed. “No, don’t worry,” said Merlin. “She has lovely ears.”  
  
_

__

_“She gets that from me,” said Arthur.  
  
_

__

_“Why do I get the feeling that all her good qualities will come from you and all her bad ones will come from me?” said Merlin.  
  
_

__

_“That’s just the way things are,” said Arthur. “Look, just –give me half an hour or so, then send her up.”  
  
_

__

_“Alright,” said Merlin. He smiled. “Alright.”  
  
_

__

\---  
 

When Merlin ushered her into Arthur’s rooms a good forty-five minutes later – just to make sure Arthur was definitely ready – he was standing over by the windows, staring outside.  
 

He gave her a long look, then turned to Merlin. “Took your time,” he said.  
 

“Sorry,” said Merlin. He backed out of the room and closed the door.  
 

There was a long, awkward silence. The King (that was how she thought of him, _the King)_ folded his arms across his chest and sighed.  
 

“And this isn’t awkward at all,” he said. “Look, sit down.” He crossed the room and pulled out a chair.  
 

She sat down.  
 

“So Merlin told you –well he told you that I-”  
 

“Yes,” she said. There was a pause. “It’s… really, really weird.” She wanted to say _disgusting_ , but that, she supposed, would offend him.  
 

“Oh, I know,” he said. “Oh, _God_ , it was – it was just insane, that whole thing. And – well, it was horrible.”  
 

“Thanks,” she said. “That’s nice to hear.”  
 

“Not you,” said Arthur. “I didn’t mean _you_. You were wonderful. But the rest of it, the –look, Merlin told you, didn’t he? You have to understand – it was-”  
 

“I understand,” she said.  
 

“I’m not sure you do,” he said. “It’s not –it’s not something you’ll ever have to go through. As a man, I mean.” She was about to reply, but he didn’t let her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry. I really am. I felt awful about what happened.”  
 

“I’m sure it wasn’t your fault,” she said. “Merlin was adamant that it wasn’t.”  
 

“No, it was my fault,” said Arthur. “I was just too scared to let anyone know what had happened. I couldn’t even tell Gwen, d’you know? I had to get Merlin to talk to her when I wasn’t there. I couldn’t even bear to talk to Gwen about it. That’s why I didn’t let Merlin tell your wet-nurse –wait, what was her name?”  
 

“Anne,” she said quietly.  
 

“That sounds awful, doesn’t it? I never knew. I never asked. I’m sorry.” He leaned forward, rested his elbows on the table. “I never meant for it to be permanent. It was just until we could figure out something better. But it didn’t work out that way. I never meant for it to-” he broke off. “Have you –been alright? Growing up, I mean? I know that’s a very general question, but…”  
 

He trailed off. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again at once.  
 

The looking in his eyes was almost pleading, like he was _desperate_ for her to say that yes, of course, it had been lovely and idyllic and she’d been blissfully, blissfully happy…  
 

And on the one hand, she wanted to lie, and say _yes, of course, it had been fine_ , but on the other hand, she almost wanted to hurt him. She couldn’t quite place her feelings – couldn’t work out who he _was_. There was the loving father Anne had told her she had, and the father who’d abandoned her, and the great king she’d heard talk of, but then there was the earnest, guilty man who was sitting across from her. All of a sudden she had no idea what to say.  
 

In the end she just shrugged. “Mostly,” she said.  
 

“Mostly?” he said. “What about the rest? Come on. Talk to me.”  
 

She shrugged again. “I left the village a few months ago and worked in an inn for a while. Then I came here to find –well, you.” He smiled. She turned and looked him in the eye. “To be honest, I was thinking of beating you with a stick.” His face fell.  
 

“I’m sorry,” he said, then: “You were working in an _inn?_ That’s appalling.” She just shrugged again. “Was it… was it bad?” he said softly.  
 

She sighed, and leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. “The people in the village called me a bastard and devil-child. Some of them threw stones at me.”  
 

She turned to look at him. His expression had hardened.  
 

“They threw _stones?_ ” he said. “I, I –I swear to God, I’ll have them beheaded, the lot of them.”  
 

“I’m up for that,” she said. “Can you do that?”  
 

“I’m the king,” he said. “I can execute anyone I like. But it would be a little irresponsible of me.” He sat back in his chair and sighed. “Look, we’re alright, aren’t we? You’re not… you’re not angry?”  
 

“Not any more,” she said, twisting her fingers together in her lap.  
 

“But you were?” he said. She shrugged, then nodded.  
 

“Based on what Merlin said, well –it doesn’t sound like it was your fault,” she said. “Not really. But-” she broke off.  
 

“But what?” he said.  
 

“I’m not sure I really believe he was telling the truth,” she said.  
 

“Trust me,” he said. “It’s all true. You can’t make this stuff up. I know I can’t really prove it, but you have to – ”  
 

“Well,” she said. “That’s not really true, is it?”  
 

“What do you mean?” he said slowly.  
 

“Merlin said you had scars. From where they –where they cut me out. Of you.” She fell silent, waiting for a response, but he just stared at her. “Can I see them?”  
 

He kept looking at her like that, a hard, slightly cold stare, then got up suddenly, and walked back towards the window. He stopped before he got there, and stood in the middle of the room, facing away from her. She heard him sigh. Then he turned to face her.  
 

“Are you sure?” he said.  
 

“It can’t be _that_ bad,” she said. “Come on.”  
 

“It’s not that, it’s just –look, I don’t think it’s a good idea. You seeing that.”  
 

She sat up a little straighter. “I want to see.”  
 

“But – ”  
 

“Please,” she said. “I want to –I have to know for certain.”  
 

He hung back for a little longer, covered his face with his hands, closed his eyes for a moment or two, then began to walk towards her, tugging his shirt free of his breeches.  
 

“Alright,” he said. “Alright, fine. Have it your way.” He stopped beside her, and lifted his shirt. Her eyes widened.  
 

It had faded a little, over the years, but it was still very much visible, a long curve from one side of his stomach to the other, neat and white and upraised. She reached out to touch it, but only managed to brush it with her fingertips before he caught hold of her wrist.  
 

“Don’t,” he said. “Please?” She looked up at him. He was staring down at her. He looked almost afraid.  
 

She took her hand away.  
 

“I’m sorry,” she said. _Sorry for asking, sorry for intruding, sorry for coming back and bringing this all up again, sorry for existing in the first place…  
  
_

He let his shirt drop. “Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault. Just –try not to think about it. It’s better if you don’t think about it. I don’t.” He stepped forward, and rested a hand on the back of her chair. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”  
 

“Not sending me away again would be a start,” she said.  
 

“I didn’t send you away, I just –look, I wanted to keep you. I really did. Hell, I even _named_ you.” He stepped back from her chair.  
 

“What,” she said. “Jenny?”  
 

“No,” he said, and laughed. “No, that was – what’s her name, Anne? –that was Anne. No, I named you after my mother. But I supposed we’re stuck with Jenny now, aren’t we?” He pulled a face.  
 

She stood up. “I _hate_ Jenny,” she said. “I think it’s an awful name. I’d love to be rid of it,” she said, and paused for a moment before going on. “What was your mother’s name?”  
 

“Igraine,” he said.  
 

“I like Igraine,” she said, and smiled. He smiled back. There was silence again.  
 

“Oh, look – ” he said. He took a step forward, and, quite to her surprise, wrapped his arms around her.  
 

She rested her head against his chest. It felt perfectly natural, in an odd sort of way.  
 

“Last time I did this,” he said after a while. “You were so tiny I could probably have held you in one hand.”  
 

“You probably still could,” she said. She lifted her head, and found him looking down at her. He frowned. “What is it?”  
 

“You’ve got my nose,” he said.  
 

“And Merlin’s cheekbones?” she said.  
 

He laughed.  
 

\---  
 

And with that, all those strange, disparate images of good fathers and bad fathers and kings and husbands didn’t seem to matter any more. There was just the two men she’d met, who didn’t seem to be quite one thing or the other, but were her _parents_.  
 

\---  
 

“There are a few things we need to talk about,” he said a few minutes later, once they were sitting again. He’d taken her hand, and was holding it on the tabletop.  
 

“Alright,” she said.  
 

“First of all,” he said. “I’m not your mother.” He paused. She looked at him blankly.  
 

“I never thought you were,” she said.  
 

“Good,” he said. “Good, that’s… that’s good.” He cleared his throat. “The other thing is, well –it’s about the succession.”  
 

“I hadn’t given that much thought,” she said.  
 

She’d lain awake the night before and wondered about it for hours, in fact.  
 

“Oh, come on,” he said. “I know I would have.” She smiled. “But I think by far the best thing to do would be to make it quite clear to everyone that you’re not my heir. At least for now.”  
 

“Why?” she said.  
 

He sighed. “People would complain. They won’t like it. It’s not –it’s not really done. Illegitimate children just tend to confuse things, I’m afraid.”  
 

“I see,” she said.  
 

“I think it would just cause trouble. Besides, I think –well, any children Gwen and I have – ”  
 

“I know,” she said. “But –you don’t have any, do you?”  
 

“No,” he said. “No, but –we might, someday. I think you should know, though,” he said. “That I’d much rather it were you than some cousin I hardly even know. Just keep that in mind. Because one day you can make as many claims to the throne as you like.” She smiled again. “Just… try not to cause any trouble, alright?”  
 

“Who, me?”  
 

\---  
 

Merlin arrived a few minutes after that, accompanied by a servant carrying a stack of fresh clothes for Arthur.  
 

“Dinner’s in an hour,” he said, slumping down into the nearest chair. He smiled at Igraine. “Hi.”  
 

“Hi,” she said. Arthur got up, directing the servant as he did so.  
 

“How’s it going?” said Merlin.  
 

“Absolutely fine,” she said, and smiled.  
 

“Oh, God,” said Arthur, as the servant left. “I’m supposed to be at a feast tonight, aren’t I?” Merlin raised an eyebrow. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ve been a little distracted.” His eyes flicked to Igraine. He stepped forward, and leaned on the table.  
 

“You’re welcome to come, of course,” he said.  
 

“Banquet to celebrate his return,” said Merlin. He turned to Arthur. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”  
 

“Why not?” said Arthur. He moved his hand to rest of the back of her chair.  
 

“Well, she’s only twelve,” he said.  
 

“I’m nearly thirteen!” said Igraine.  
 

“Exactly,” said Arthur, with a nod and a smile. “Besides, my father had me eating at the high table at these things when I was much younger than that. She’ll be fine.”  
 

“Of course,” she said.  
 

“Just make sure she’s in bed on time,” said Arthur.  
 

“Hey!”  
 

“Arthur, come on,” said Merlin. “She’s been here, what, a day?”  
 

“Four days,” she said.  
 

“It’s just not fair,” Merlin continued.  
 

“Is too!” she said.  
 

Arthur pointed an accusing finger at Merlin. “I know what this is. You’re just trying to worm out of going. Because if _she_ doesn’t go, then _you_ can use that as an excuse to stay out of it. Well, that’s not happening.” His hand moved from the back of her chair to her shoulder.  
 

“I am not!” said Merlin. He turned to Igraine. “I’m really not.”  
 

“You want to go, don’t you?” said Arthur to his daughter. She looked from one father to the other.  
 

“Well, _yes_ ,” she said. “Obviously.” She tossed her hair.  
 

“She gets that from you,” said Merlin, slumping back in his chair. “And besides, I don’t think she even has anything to wear. Do you?”  
 

“Well, no,” she admitted.  
 

“We can talk to Gwen,” said Arthur. “She’ll sort it. Don’t worry.”  
 

“There’s only an hour!” said Merlin.  
 

“Yes,” said Arthur. “So you should _get to it_.”  
 

“Look, I’m the court sorcerer, not your bloody manservant-”  
 

\---  
 

“I don’t even know what to _call_ you two. It could get confusing.”  
 

“Well, seeing as _I’m_ going to be your father as far as most people are concerned, I think ‘father’ and ‘Merlin’ would be appropriate.”  
 

“Or just ‘Arthur and Merlin’. That would work too.”  
 

\---  
 

“You shouldn’t use language like that. Don’t let me catch you saying that word again.”  
 

\---  
 

“You’re just a born trouble-maker, aren’t you?”  
 

\---  
 

“She gets that from you, you know.”  
 

\---  
 

“She gets _that_ from you.”  
 

\---  
 

“And that.”

  



End file.
